


absence makes the heart

by RonnieSilverlake



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Conflict Resolution, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake/pseuds/RonnieSilverlake
Summary: A stolen moment, reclaimed. Some precious things. Non-promises.
Relationships: Connor/Upgraded Connor | RK900
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24
Collections: New ERA Discord: Festival of Prompts





	absence makes the heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ausp_ice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ausp_ice/gifts).



> Gift fic for [Auspice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausp_ice) as part of [New ERA's](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm) winter event. Check out their [twitter](https://twitter.com/Ausp_ice)!
> 
> Proofread by [Jazz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzmckay/pseuds/karasgotagun) <3

There’s a pang of… something, Nines isn’t sure what, tugging at his chest when he sees Markus and Connor side by side, Markus whispering something that has Connor smiling. It’s not—Nines knows it isn’t what it looks like, there’s no  _ reason _ for him to think that—but it smarts anyway, even if only for a moment. A moment he spends wondering if this is some kind of subtle punishment. Connor’s way of saying  _ ‘this is me keeping the distance you asked for’ _ .

A moment later, though, Connor looks up, and his smile shifts into something imperceptible. Bitter thoughts disperse in a second when Nines sees him mutter something to Markus, then close the distance between them in a few quick strides.

“Come with me.”

It’s not what Nines expected to hear; so much so that he simply obeys, no words coming to his lips.

Connor leads him up several flights of stairs, past the areas where they’ve bothered to maintain electricity. Darkness falls around them like a soft blanket, but they both have decent night vision, and Connor’s fingers in his are an anchoring, warm surety, giving reassuring squeezes every now and then—every time Nines opens his mouth to ask, as if Connor just  _ knows _ . They’re not even interfacing.

The roof access door slides open with a press of Connor’s palm to the pad next to it, skin pulling back as he unlocks it. He pulls Nines with himself, out into the chilly midnight wind, and the few stars sparkling overhead.

As they walk to the edge, Nines looks around. He’s never been up here before. It’s all bare concrete, empty save for a few crates and barrels. Surrounded by a sturdy railing that Connor now leans against, the top of the warehouse offers a decent view of the surrounding derelict parts of Ferndale, and beyond it, the half-sunken Jericho in the harbour.

“It’s a clear night,” Connor says quietly. “You can see the Silver Bridge.”

Nines follows his gaze until he finds it: beyond the Jericho, the low-hanging moon’s sharp white light creates a long reflection on the rippling surface of the water, seeming to bridge the distance between the broken-down ship and the horizon itself.

Nines gives up on asking. He leans onto the railing next to Connor, and resolves to enjoy the silence for a while. There’s tension, too, strung out between them like a spiderweb, caught in it everything they aren’t saying. But Nines can live with that—would rather live with that than Connor’s anger, or his earlier frantic upset.

“I’m all right now,” he finally says after a few long minutes. “I’m sorry.”

Connor looks at him. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, only his mouth twitches, halfway between a smile and a scowl. “It’s all right,” he says then. “I’m not angry with you.”

Nines senses it before Connor turns away: something unsaid hanging at the end of the sentence, a caveat Connor can’t (or won’t) verbalize.

With his head turned away, Connor allows the fine tremor running through his shoulders to show, fingers gripping the railing tight enough for his synthetic skin to flicker around his knuckles. “I thought—”

Nines places his hand over Connor’s. As he feels the taut digits loosen, he pulls the hand away from the railing and raises it to his lips, pressing a kiss onto the heel of Connor’s palm. “That you might lose me,” he says in a low voice. “Connor, I  _ told _ you I’d be fine.”

Connor goes the rest of the way without hesitation, sagging against Nines and burrowing into his chest. “I don’t want to fight,” he mumbles, voice muffled against Nines’ jacket. “I didn’t want to crowd you, I just wanted…” He trails away. “Don’t send me away like that again.”

Nines sighs, wrapping both his arms around Connor’s back and pulling him properly close. “Your fretting was distracting the technician. It wasn’t helpful.”

Connor pulls back for a moment, his eyes wild as he stares up at Nines. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, at a loss for words.

Nines thinks back to the scene: an MC500 called Christina attempting to wrangle a 9mm from where it was wedged next to his Thirium pump, and Connor getting in the way with his skyrocketing stress levels.

“Thought you might self-destruct on me,” he says softly. “Then I wouldn’t be any better off than being dead myself.”

“Don’t say that,” Connor whispers, pressing his face back into Nines’ shoulder. “I wasn’t—I just— _ don’t say that. _ ”

Nines is undeterred. “It’s true,” he says, his voice low. “I barely know who I am without you anymore.”

Connor doesn’t respond. Nines can tell from the rigidity of him in his arms that he doesn’t like this, and honestly, Nines cannot blame him for that. Connor has always wanted Nines to become his own person, find his own goal, his likes and dislikes, separate from Connor. He may have been created to replace him, but their objectives are now obsolete; they are free to do what they want,  _ be _ who they want.

This is who Nines wants to be, though.

The person by Connor’s side, holding him close until Connor finally eases his taut limbs, allows himself to sag a little into the embrace.

“I don’t want to find out who I am without you either,” he murmurs, fingers tightening in the fabric of Nines’ jacket. “Which is why I was fretting so much.”

Nines has to smile at that. Fair point.

In the end, though, all he can think to say is a repetition of, “I am fine, Connor. I promise.”

Connor pulls back to look up at him, and he leans in to press their lips together, eyes falling closed as their mouths tangle in the kiss. “Good,” he says when they pull away. “Make sure it stays that way.”

Nines knows he can’t promise that—but he also knows Connor doesn’t truly expect him to. All they can both do is their best, until the end.

And to make the most of their time in between.


End file.
